


Sit Down, It's Just a Talk

by bookmarkedpage



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, old fic is old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:30:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookmarkedpage/pseuds/bookmarkedpage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is December of 1999 and Padma Patil has far too much to worry about: her relationship with Chandraj, her proper Indian boyfriend, whether or not You-Know-Who is going to win the war (she's praying he won't), on top of questioning her abilities as a Healer and her denial over some feelings she may or may not have for someone who may or may not be dead. AU; written before book 7 came out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sit Down, It's Just a Talk

“Sir, if you would have a seat please,” she said as calmly as she could but the small quake in her voice was evident.

This never got easier. Maybe it was never supposed to get easier, but Padma Patil found herself wondering this every time she had to have this conversation. Someone once told her that it did get easier because if it never did then you would go mad. “It’s the job,” one of her fellow trainees had told her the year before as if that explained everything and made it all right, as if it would make all the frustration and confusion and anger go away, but all of that was still there and weighed heavy in the pit of her stomach, although from that day on “It’s the job” became her mantra.

One time she even almost said that to someone. It was a young woman, someone she recognized from Hogwarts who she remembered was a few years ahead of her. When Padma went home that evening she tried to write up some sort of speech so she would never say the wrong thing again but after a late night of writing draft upon draft she came to the conclusion that maybe that was part of the job too, that there never would be a set speech for this and then thought that she should have realized this before she chose her career.

After that she dug out a fresh sheet of parchment and wrote a lengthy letter to someone who probably wasn’t even alive anymore but could possibly give some advice from the afterlife about how to tell someone he was dying. Who would be better to go to for advice about dying than a dead person? She never liked to think that maybe he was dead because that meant, well, that he was dead and for some reason that made her feel like someone had torn her in half even though the man she thought was supposed to be her other half was probably asleep halfway across town, safe and snug in his own bed.

Once again the young healer was about to do her least favourite thing. The young man sat across from her and he looked so expectant and hopeful and Padma wished the ceiling would spontaneously cave in and save her the trouble of having to ruin this man’s life. In fact, she waited a full twenty seconds for it to happen but it remained in tact above her and she tried her hardest not to glare up at it.

Where to begin? This was harder than any of her previous experiences and the words kept dashing off every time she came close to settling on one. Maybe the young man was psychic and would read her mind for her or there was still time for the ceiling to fall. Of course, she could also be mature and tell him instead of making him wait because his eager smile was making her light-headed and nauseous and she did not want to tell him but this was the job, this was the job, this was the job and why did she ever want this job?

It was too late now, this was what she chose and it would get easier because it’s the job and Padma was the job. If she wasn’t the job, then what was she? She was nothing. She would just be some successful Indian man’s trophy wife (not that she had anything against housewives, she fully respected them) who happened to have a brain and then would eventually pop out a few kids and cook and clean and change diapers all day. For the most part that appealed to her, really, because she looked forward to the cooking and the cleaning and the diaper changing but maybe she had already sacrificed that lovely dream for cheap take-away and an environment of pure sanitation and other people’s children.

“Mr. Stevens,” Padma began until her tongue suddenly felt huge and dry and heavy and refused to let her form any more words. He was still staring at her and damn it, now he was scooting to the edge of his seat like an excited puppy waiting to be told it was time to go for a walk. She wondered if she told him to go get his lead if he would wag his bum and give a bark of approval. _What_ was she thinking? Her mind was getting away from her. She blamed this on her nerves.

There must have been a long stretch of silence because Mr. Stevens was asking, “What?” and now he was finally looking concerned and his smile was faltering but whether he was worried about her news or if he was starting to question her sanity, she had no idea. She wasn’t the mind-reader here but she was still hoping he might be.

“Mr. Stevens, there were complications,” Padma finally told him. Now she was finally getting to the truth of the matter and before she could explain further he was cutting in.

“Complications? What sort of complications? This- there shouldn’t have been any complications, she was fine. _They_ were fine. I got them out before- before those bastards showed up and- she wasn’t hit with something serious, was she? They both have to be fine,” Stevens said quickly, his voice growing steadily louder and higher in pitch and Padma could tell he was already close to panicking. She didn’t blame him, actually, and hated herself for what she was about to say.

“We don’t know what she was hit with, sir. Whatever it was, it was very serious and during our procedures we found that the curse affected the baby too and… it must have been too much for him to handle,” Padma said slowly. Her calm demeanor was fading fast but she refused to cry in here. Someone had to be strong right now and if she let herself panic with him then she would be useless and _this was the job_.

Damn the job.

All she could do now was hope and pray to the ceiling that Mr Stevens had actually heard her and that he was listening to what she was saying, but judging from the way he was suddenly pacing-- which made Padma wonder when he had even stood in the fist place, but then again she had been busy praying to ceilings the past few moments, so she supposed anything could have happened during that time and she would have missed it-- and he was raising his voice, and Padma was quite certain that it would be in everyone’s best interest if she kept her mouth shut right now.

Or maybe she was wrong, because Mr Stevens dropped back down onto his seat and was hugging himself, rocking back and forth and sobbing uncontrollably. Padma never did know how to handle hyperventilation, but she was about to find that out now. As she tried to decide what to do, Padma found that maybe she didn’t want to calm him down. After all, if someone had just her that she lost her whole world, she’d want the be able to mourn too, and she wouldn’t take kindly to being told, “It’s okay, it’ll be all right, just calm down,” because no one in his right mind would think it’s okay or all right or want to calm down and anyone who expected him to believe one word of that was mad.

Padma wordlessly got out of her seat and walked over to the man, stopped in front of him, then stooped over to draw him into a hug without bothering to care how inappropriate it was. It was only a matter of seconds before she felt his tears soak through her robes to her skin, and it was all she could do not to join him. _Be strong, be strong, be strong, Padma Patil, it‘s the job, this is the job, you are the job_ , she kept telling herself as a feeble attempt to detach herself from the situation, but his sobs were too loud to tune out.

Later that night, after stopping to pick up another dinner of take-away curry, Padma was once again seated at her desk scrawling another huge letter.

“You know how I feel about these long hours,” came a voice from her doorway, but Padma pretended she hadn’t heard him.

“Stop ignoring me, Padma. We need to talk,” he said and she could hear his trouser legs swishing together as he stepped into the room.

“And _you_ know how I feel about these talks,” she told him with an edge to her voice. They’ve had this argument far too many times for her to truly muster any energy for it, but it seemed he was going to insist they go round and round again over it because he was telling her how he hated not being able to see her as much as he wanted and how she was putting more effort into taking care of everyone else but herself and how she would be happier cutting herself off from all that.

“Chandraj, just- stop it, will you? You know there’s a war and it’s not exactly like I can turn around and practice Muggle med-”

“I hate that word,” he cut in.

“Non-magic medicine,” she quickly amended, “and I’m saving people- or trying to- and it’s part of the job and I’m not explaining this to you again.” With that, she turned back to her letter, but he was _still_ going on and on.

“Couldn’t they replace you? Stay here with me, Padma,” he said.

This was it. He was finally going to propose, she could just tell. Why else would he ask her to stay? But instead of feeling that excited, bubbly feeling in her stomach she only felt nauseous. “Stay? Why?” she asked, wiping her sweaty palms over her skirt. It was a good thing her back was still to him or else she’d probably vomit.

Chandraj shook his head and massaged his forehead. “Because, Padma, I don’t want to keep competing with strangers everyday,” he said and that, to her, was the proverbial nail in the coffin (and she told herself she would worry later if that expression really was the proper one for the situation). How _dare_ he. How dare he make her choose.

It would be rude to do this sitting down, though it would be easier and she needed something to be easy, just this once, but no, her conscience wouldn‘t let her have that. Padma pushed her chair away from the desk, cringing at the loud, grinding echo of the legs scratching against the hardwood floor, and crossed her arms as she faced him. “Fine. Then stop competing and go home,” she told him, raising her chin imperiously. “I’ve told you hundreds of times I’m not quitting my job, and you haven’t even _tried_ to understand anything about that part of me, so- so it’s- it would be easier on both of us if we stopped fooling ourselves.”

Chandraj stared at her, gaping. He reminded her of a fish, in a way. She really must be exhausted, what with all the mad thoughts about prayers to ceilings she’d been having all day.

Hopefully there was still a chance that _this_ ceiling would cave in. _Please, god of ceilings, hear my prayer… I really should go to bed._

“Padma? You aren’t serious,” he said and started toward her, but she backed away and tightened her arms defensively.

“I am,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Go home.”

He gaped at her again and dared to step up to her. In fact, he was even so bold as to dip his head, but Padma would was most certainly not going to let him have a goodbye kiss and she placed a hand on his chest, giving him a firm shove. “Goodbye, Chandraj,” she said and without another word, she slipped past him and sat back down at her desk.

He took the hint and left after spending five minutes staring silently at the back of her head, at which point Padma folded her arms over the top of her desk and dropped her forehead onto them. She was truly alone now, a feeling she hated more than anything else. Her twin was in India, she had just broken up with her boyfriend, her best friend was missing, and she was still writing letters to a possibly-dead man. She could go see her parents, but that wasn’t the same.

Padma finished off her letter with a post script stating, “Well, I have just broken up with my boyfriend, but it was for the best. ~~He was a selfish prat.~~ ” She sent it off and climbed into bed, where she spent the entire night wondering when everything had taken such a turn for the worst.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written October 9th, 2007. I'm moving all of my older work over from LJ.


End file.
